


In the Dark

by Everyday_Im_Narrating



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Smut, and enjoys it way too much tbh, jackson listens in on two pervs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Narrating/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Narrating
Summary: Some things go bump in the night. Others, like Jackson’s roommate and his boyfriend, make some much more interesting noises.





	In the Dark

Of all the people that Jackson could have gotten stuck with in college, he supposes his roommate is really not bad. Scott is polite and pleasant, doesn’t make  _too_ much of a mess, and as much as Jackson likes to give him a hard time - because of  _course_ he does - he genuinely enjoys talking to him most of the time. There’s something about the genuine, squinty-eyed smile that comes so easily to his face that really pulls people in, and Jackson is one of those people. He’s only human, after all.

Scott has a boyfriend, though, and the boyfriend happens to be the most annoying guy that Jackson has ever met. No, really. He’s the polar opposite of Scott in most ways. Can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life, always has a snarky comment to make, is constantly flailing about and dropping things and being  _loud_ , and even has the audacity to be ridiculously good-looking.

So Jackson is attracted to them both. No big deal. He’s not going to do anything about it. With Stiles it’s just physical attraction, and Scott is the kind of guy the entire campus has a crush on, so it doesn’t matter, right? Besides, they’re clearly in love. They’ve known each other their whole lives. Scott has two pictures on his nightstand, one of himself and his mother, and the other of himself and  _Stiles_ when they were like two years old, making silly faces at the camera. Whenever they’re together, there’s always a part of them that’s touching the other, and Jackson would think that was very cute if he weren’t jealous. Not of Scott and Stiles themselves, mind you. He’s happy for them. He just wishes he, too, had something like they do.

Most of the time it annoys him a little. Sometimes a lot. Tonight he’s already kind of pissed because there was a party he’d been looking forward to and he didn’t get to go because he had to study his ass off for a test tomorrow, so when he’s getting settled in bed and Scott comes back from said party - drunk and giggly with an equally drunk and giggly Stiles - he pretends he’s already asleep on the top bunk. He doesn’t want to interact with these two, not tonight.

“Jackson?” Scott whispers. It’s more of a stage-whisper than anything. Had Jackson been really asleep, he’d probably have woken up, but since he’s faking it, he does his best to stay quiet and keep his eyes closed, even though the lights are all off except for the tiny nightlight they keep by the bathroom door.

“He’s asleep.” Stiles whispers back. Jackson feels the shift in weight when they both settle on the bottom bunk, and he can bet one of them is on the other’s lap, because it happens so often.

There’s kissing noises. No big deal. They’re gonna make out a little and then sleep, he figures. It’s not like they’re gonna keep him up. He can sleep through these two dorks kissing.

(Stiles makes these sweet little sounds that Jackson had never noticed before. Probably because he’d never witnessed them making out while drunk. It’s kind of hot. He’s going to ignore it.)

Except he can’t, because it doesn’t stop happening, and now there’s Scott’s voice - Scott, who’s usually quiet - caught between a laugh and a moan.

“Dude, he could wake up.”

“Don’t care.”

“Kay.”

The kissing resumes. Jackson cares. He has a test tomorrow. He wants to sleep. It has nothing to do with how Stiles’ voice is silkier than he’s ever heard it when he speaks next, sending a wave of heat straight down Jackson’s body.

“Come on, Scotty. Do you wanna?” Judging by the sharp breath that Scott draws in, Stiles must be making a very compelling argument. Maybe he’s on top of Scott, rolling his hips, dragging their dicks together through their clothes. Scott was wearing tight jeans when he left for the party, he remembers.

He’s not going to keep  _picturing_  it, though. Goddammit. He has to sleep. And it’s creepy to enjoy it so much when the two people giving your ears a live porn show don’t even know you’re listening.

Then again, they  _do_ know he’s in the room.

No. No, he’s not doing anything. He’s going to block it out and go to sleep. Even though the bed below him is moving a bit more and then there’s the noise of rough fabric hitting the floor, not once but twice, meaning they took off their jeans  _and_ they’re about to  _do things_ right beneath Jackson’s bed.

“We have to be quiet.” Scott remarks, even though his drunken whisper is anything but. “Like super quiet.”

“Gotcha.”

Jackson can’t really  _help_ what his imagination is doing. How he’s imagining Scott on top this time, keeping Stiles’ pale legs trapped beneath him as they grind together; maybe that’s the source of the soft little sounds coming from the bottom bunk. Maybe he’s sucking a bruise onto Stiles’ neck and it will be visible in the morning. Maybe at some point he’d like to do the same to Jackson.

No, no, bad train of thought. Especially because now he really  _is_ hard in his boxers. He’s going to leave his dick alone.

His resolve lasts for about twelve seconds, or until he hears the sound of the nightstand drawer opening, then closing, then a bottle being popped open.

_Lube, because of course they have it handy like that. Pervs._

“You can’t fuck me.” It’s Scott who’s talking, and Jackson imagines him with his legs wide open, perky ass being fucked good and hard while Stiles grabs onto his nice, strong shoulders. “It’ll shake the bed and Jackson’s gonna wake up and be really mad at us.”

Sure, ‘mad’ is one way to word it. ‘Sneaking his hand under his sweatpants and giving the head of his cock a little squeeze to alleviate the pressure’ is another.

“We can still have fun, though.”

“Mm-hmm.”

More kissing noises. When Jackson sneaks a peek at the floor beneath them, the dim glow of the nightlight reveals two pairs of jeans and two pairs of underwear piled up, meaning now they’re making out  _naked_  from the waist down.

“God, Scotty, look how tight you are.” Stiles’ voice is at the same time rough and adoring as he says it, and Jackson’s decision to  _not_ get off to the sounds of his hot roommate getting fingered by his equally hot boyfriend disappears as quickly as he gets his hand under his clothes. He can’t shake the bed, eihter, though. He’d get caught. And as much as the hypothetical idea of Scott and Stiles catching him with his hand around his dick appeals to the exhibitionist side of him, the thought of it happening in real life is awfully unnerving, so he sticks to just slowly rubbing at the head with his fingertips. He can be silent.

He lets his imagination fill in the blanks. Scott is making these strangled little moans and Stiles is dead silent; he pictures their faces pressed together as Stiles pumps two fingers in and out of Scott’s ass teasingly slow, making his cock bounce against his stomach. When Stiles’ voice joins in with a breathy moan of his own, he imagines Scott’s tan hand wrapped around Stiles’ cock, stroking him just as slow. Scott is endlessly patient. Would be such a fantastically cruel tease if he wanted to. And Stiles with those stupid long fingers that must be dragging against Scott’s prostate just  _right._

Jackson doesn’t know how long he’s been teasing his own cock, making it more and more sensitive with the tips of his fingers, but when Stiles whispers out an urgent, needy, “fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum” - he makes a fatal mistake.

He gets distracted. And his hips move on their own, arching off the bed just once, but once is enough to make a sound. And a movement. And to make the entire room go dead silent for a few long seconds, during which Jackson holds his breath, his heart pounding in his goddamn  _ears_.

Thankfully, they just go back to what they were doing as if nothing happened. Fuck, that was close. Jackson breathes out a quiet sigh of relief and lets his hand go back to work, because he was getting so close already. 

Scott sounds so fucking good when Stiles goes back to touching him. Jackson imagines his face, his eyes closed and his mouth open, lips red from all the kissing. Maybe Stiles is still rubbing his prostate with his fingers and now has a hand on his cock, getting him closer and closer to the edge. Or maybe...

“Come, baby. Just from my fingers in your hole, just like that. Be a good boy.”

Jackson doesn’t know for sure if Scott comes, but  _he_  does, biting his free hand in a somewhat desperate attempt to be silent about it. Scott probably does too, because it’s not long before they’re reaching for the Kleenex - and, yes, he really wishes he had some too, damn it - and there’s a lot of shuffling around on the bed beneath him, meaning they’re cleaning up and probably cuddling. Just like that, they go from being ridiculously sexy dorks to just plain dorks, and Jackson can’t be more glad that he didn’t get caught after all.

“Goodnight, Scotty...” Stiles whispers, and then there’s a kissing noise.

“Night, babe.”

The room is silent. Jackson finally closes his eyes. He can still get some pretty decent sleep and wake up in time for his test.

But then he hears two more words.

Two words that come in such a quiet whisper, he might be just imagining them. But he isn’t. He hears them. And he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Because it’s Stiles’ voice, and it’s followed by a burst of giggles from both of them, and it makes him hide his face in his pillow.

The two words that are probably going to haunt him forever.

“Night, Jackson!”


End file.
